


bad things happen

by fawnwrites



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Z-O-M-B-I-E-S (2018)
Genre: Angst, content warnings & ships are at the beginning of each prompt, me: guess ive gotta write angst, me: sees a disney channel original movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawnwrites/pseuds/fawnwrites
Summary: a collection of short, angsty stories, made using the badthingshappen bingo!you can request a fic at my tumblr, @knife-enby. check the tag #bad things happen fic to see my bingo card





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: 'anger born of worry' with Bucky  
> pairing: Addison/Zed (though only mentioned)  
> content warning(s): arguing, there's a swear word

_“I love you.”_

A feminine voice echos outside the storage closet - muffled, spoken by someone trying to be quiet, like they’d get in trouble if they were caught. They probably think they’re being clever. After all, the hallway is empty, everyone in a class.

Except Bucky, now overwhelmed with curiosity. He presses his ear to the door and hears a noise like a mechanical click. A robot voice hums: _“Gar-garżiga.”_

“ _Gar_ -garżiga,” they echo, testing their voice. Bucky raises a brow - he’s unfamiliar with this language, and far too familiar with the voice. He’s heard it before, heard it a lot. “Is that right? ‘Gar- _gar_ żiga, gar-gar _żiga_ …’”

A hot feeling creeps up his back, makes him feel sick. Addison?

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.” Her voice gets lower, softer, and it’s harder for Bucky to hear her. “I’ll tell … during the zombie … ‘Zed, gar-garżiga!’”

The hot sickness turns to dread.

Zed, that monster who just can’t keep his mouth shut. Zed, who thinks he can walk around like a human, playing football and **apparently** dating his cousin.

Addison opens the door slowly, peering out into the hallway. All she catches is Bucky before she tries, in vain, to close the door on him. He presses his palm against the door and swings it open, fueled by anger.

“Hello, ‘cuz!” He greets, full of fake-cheer, a smile on his face like the one he has before kicking someone off the squad.

“Er.. hey, Bucky.” She hugs her phone to her chest. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, I was going back to my class, and I couldn’t help but overhear someone in the closet … was a little worried, y’know?”

“Yeahhh,” she says. “Well, I’m fine! I was just-”

“Just practicing your zombie?”

Her face pales a little. But she doesn’t back down. “It’s, uh, actually called za-język. Zombietongue in English, if you don’t want to respect their culture.”

“Oh, trust me, Addison, I definitely don’t respect it.”

Addison’s nervous expression hardens into a glare. “What do you want, Bucky?”

“I want you to pick a side. You’re human, and you’ve got to start acting like one.” There’s a feeling in his chest, putting pressure on his lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Zombies are monsters, Addie. Do you want to be a monster? I guess you already are, with that hair of yours.”

She grabs hold of her wig. “Have you even talked to a zombie? They-” she stops to think, “-Zed is wonderful, and I’m in love with him. I love a zombie.”

Bucky’s knuckles turn white. He’s still gripping the door, blocking her exit. _He could kill you,_ he almost says, and doesn’t. “I’ll kick you off the squad.” He spits the words.

“... What?”

“If you don’t stop talking to that band of freaks, I’ll kick you off.”

“You can’t just-” but she stops and bites her bottom lip. He’s cheer captain. He can, will, and _has_. She deflates.

The fake grin grows on his face. “I need to get back to class now.” He finally moves away, and the door slowly closes. “Hope to see you at practice tomorrow, ‘cuz.”

Addison’s helpless look fades as the door shuts, leaving her alone in the dim closet. Bucky rolls his shoulders, sighs heavily as he walks away. That was the right thing to do ... why the hell does he feel bad?

That was the right thing to do.

He ignores the stifled sobs coming from behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 'survivor's guilt' with Zed  
> pairing: Addison/Zed (though it could be read platonically ig?)  
> content warning(s): swearing, referenced character death, descriptions of pain
> 
>  
> 
> aaaa this took way longer to write than i thought it would!! theres also a lot of fluff in this prompt, tbh... hope you like it!!  
> also: all zombietongue i use in this i made based on polish, as i am polish!

A storm growls outside Zed’s house. Addison bounces on his bed, a look of alarm crossing her face every now and then in tune with the lights flickering; booms of thunder nearby; the house settling. She grinds her teeth together. “Zed, is it always this--”

“Loud?” Zed doesn’t even look away from his closet, where he’s digging through, looking for something. “Yeah, it’s always like this during storms.” He pauses, and adds (with concern obvious in his voice): “Are you scared?”

“No, it’s just that Seabrook houses are built… better. They don’t creak like this.” 

“It’s not that bad,” he says, awkwardly. Then, “A-ha!” He sticks his head and an arm out, holding a flashlight. “In case the power goes out.” 

“The power never goes out in Seabrook.”

Something short of pity and anger mixes on Addison’s face and Zed points a finger accusedly. “Save some ‘standing up to society’ for Eliza, Addie. Besides, we have better things to do right now.”

“Like what?” She presses, anger in her voice.

“Well,” he steps out fully, holding a dusty box under the other arm. “I have a buncha stuff from my childhood in here! Photos, drawings… I thought it’d be a good way for you to learn more about me!”

“ _Awwh_ , you’re trusting me with your baby photos?”

“Don’t get too cocky, missy.” They giggle together, and he plops down on the bed beside her in sync with a CRACK! outside. He opens the box and hands the first photo to Addison without looking at it.

The photo’s old and worn around the edges. There’s a date written at the bottom, though not in English.

A young Zed - gaunt (as expected for a zombie), freckles hidden under skin so pale and blushing blue it’s like plastered makeup, hair hidden under a fluffy cap - stands beside a tall girl.

She looks old, freckles standing out against her skin unlike Zed’s faint ones. Her hair’s curly, tied up in a bun. They both have a wide smile on their face, pressed together, holding a tray of cookies.

“Zed? Who’s this?”

“What?”

“In the photo with you.” she chuckles, turning the photo around for Zed to see. “You were so cute-” Her expression changes to worry.

Zed looks uncomfortable. He puts the drawings in his hands down on the bed, sighing heavily.

“Are you okay?”

“Addie, that’s ... that’s my mom.”

-

When Zed was six, he hated winter.

It certainly wasn’t the worst thing he had to face as a Zyja ( _zyja, noun: zombie_ ) but it was one of the few problems he faced that wasn’t man-made, so he’d rather focus on that than the bleeping device on his wrist or the less-than-ideal food officers provided the town.

It was so cold, and his body temperature was already lower than a human’s, so he (and every other zombie in town) was always shivering. Snow didn’t last long enough to build snowmen or go sledding - not that zombies were allowed too.

And he didn’t get a Christmas.

He knew what Christmas was, he’d heard about it plenty of times. Walls were decorated in red and green lights, sweet desserts were made, and kids got presents. He’d hear festive music playing from Seabrook all the time.

Zombies had a ‘holiday,’ or that’s what parents called it to make it a little less scary. They had Wśiatł.

It was a yearly checkup, where every Zombie was brought into a hospital. Walls were decorated in diagrams of the human body, Z-bands were removed, and kids got sedated.

The only thing that made it worth it was a selection of candy and treats handed out afterwards.

So, yeah. Winter kinda sucked.

Zed stared out his window, watching another group of his neighbors be rounded up and taken to the facility. His mom knocked on the open door. “Hey, syln ( _syln, noun: direct translation means ‘son,’ often used as an informal nickname, similar to ‘sweetie’_ ). It’ll be our turn soon.”

“Don’t wanna go,” he muttered. He was still tired and hungry.

“I know. But think of all the good treats you’ll get afterwards.” She forced a light tone.

“It fucking sucks.”

She approached him, and wrapped an arm around him. “Roshizsed, where did you learn to say that word?”

“‘Fucking’? Eliza said it. She said it’s a bad word.”

“She’s right. Humans wouldn’t like you saying that.”

“Why do I care what the humans think? There’s not any here, anyways.” He pulled away from her touch. “FUCK!”

His mom frowned at him. “Well, okay then, if you don’t want to go.” She stood up, and ambled towards the exit. “I was going to make cookies to celebrate afterwards, but if you don’t want any…”

Zed turned around quickly. “Cookies?”

“Yeah! A whole tray. But I guess me and tazta ( _tazta, noun: dad_ ) will have to eat them all by ourselves.”

He took a few steps forward. “No, no. I’m coming!” He heard his mother warm laughter as he hopped onto his bed and threw his shoes on.

“Glad you changed your mind, syln.”

-

Addison nods and smiles at Zed. “That’s such a cute story.”

“I helped her bake them,” he continues, looking distracted. “We took a photo to celebrate.”

She ran her finger over the photo, across his mother’s face. “Zed isn’t your real name?”

“What?”

“You said she called you, uhm… R… Re?”

“Roshizsed. It means ‘joy.’ And, yeah, that’s my full name, but only Bonzo and Eliza call me that now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “I picked up the nickname Zed ‘cause no one could pronounce Roshizsed.”

She frowns. “I would’ve _tried_ -”

“Addie, it’s okay, really.” He holds out a hand, motioning her to settle down. Though he looks amused; happy she wants to try. “It used to bother me when I was a kid, but I honestly don’t care anymore. You can call me Roshizsed if you want.”

“Well, I do. Want. … That.”

Zed huffs. “Alright, then.” He carefully takes the photo from Addison, pauses to look at it, then sets it back in the box. He stares at it for far too long, only breaking out of his trance as the lights flicker off.

The house settles, and he clears his throat. “I-I found some of my old drawings,” he says, forcing a big smile.

“What happened to her?”

Zed bites his lip. “Addie, I-”

“Roshizsed, you can talk to me. If you want to, that is.”

Addison still doesn’t know everything about how zombies are treated, but she knows they didn’t get much in the form of physical - or emotional - care. Whatever happened to her… it fucked Zed up, she knew that much, and she doubted he ever got the support he needed.

“God, okay.” He sets the box to the side and folds his hands in his lap. “Zombies don't really like to talk about it. Not exactly a fond memory for us."

“Talk about what...?

_"Vól."_

-

Z-bands aren’t perfect. They aren’t now, and certainly weren’t a few years ago.

The initial events were rather plain in comparison to the rest of it. About ten zombies all reporting to medical facilities that their Z-bands were malfunctioning, violently shocking them every now and then. It was making it hard to function.

A quick search found that their bands weren’t at risk of shutting down, meaning no uncontrollable zombie hordes, so they were dismissed easily.

The following incident became known as Vól. Literally ‘pain.’

Malfunctions spread like a virus until every zombie was affected to some extent by unbearable shocks. Some were lucky, only shocked once or twice a day. Others weren’t.

Zed and his mom weren’t.

The electricity was numbing: screeching hot mixed with a pins-and-needle sensation, that started in Zed’s arm and coursed through his whole body. It was triggered by any emotional shift. Hear a hilarious joke? Really hungry in the morning? He’d spend the next five minutes on the ground, choking on his tears and spitting up blood.

And _God_ his mom was even worse. She stayed in bed all day and night, whimpering or screaming or sobbing or dead-silent. It was horrifying.

The fix took weeks to make and by the time it was done, there were deaths. Pain, exhaustion, and malnutrition don’t mix well.

Zed buried his mother with an arm shaking from the force of electricity moving through it.

-

Zed rocks back and forth as his finishes his story, nervously glancing up at Addison but never making eye contact.

“I never heard about that,” she whispers.

“No one did. The government’s well-kept secret.” He shrugs.

“That’s fucking horrible.” She reaches out and touches his arm. “Zed, you shouldn’t have had to go through that. I can’t imagine…” _waking up to agonizing pain? being so hurt you can’t eat, can’t sleep? hearing the screams of your loved ones?_ she pictures a little-Zed, crying himself to sleep, and the thought makes her sick and dizzy.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

“Yeah, fine, sure, but I- I lived when she … didn’t.”

Addison can see him shaking, see tears welling in his eyes. She moves to speak, but Zed takes a deep breath and starts again, not even looking at her.

“Like, it left scars and everything. I hate it so much.” He pulls his shirt down a little, showing violent purple lines scarring his shoulder, curling up just before his neck. She tenses up at the sight. “It’s such a shitty reminder of everything. You know, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her, … _it_ … happened in the middle of the night. I was asleep.”

“I am so sorry, Zed.” She shakes her head. “Roshizsed.”

“I miss her.” He pushes himself closer to Addison, and rests his head on her shoulder. “Every fucking day. I miss her.”

She nods, and rests her head against his. I don’t know what to say, she almost tells him, but she can hear him sniffling into her shoulder.

“‘Mtoka, gar-cię zam.’ We have two different forms of love. For romantic love, and for platonic. Gar-cię zam - that’s platonic. I didn’t get to tell her.”

Something about the thunder outside and rain hitting the roof was comforting. Zed had Addison’s warmth, and that was something. A distraction from rather awful thoughts.

“I’m so sorry,” Addie echos. “I’m so, so sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 'don't let them see you cry' with Bucky  
> pairing: none  
> content warning(s): mentioned parental abuse
> 
> i didn't proofread this :P but i really wanted to publish it so. i hope you like it

When Bucky was four years old he played football and did tap dancing and was in-and-out of sign language lessons and he was so _in love_ with learning.

Kids don’t have a solid idea about what the world is, or what happens in it. Everything is new and absolutely terrifying. So babies cry when they’re thirsty and children cry over spilled milk. There are monsters (read: zombies) in Bucky’s closet, and he’s scared like every other little boy.

And like every other little boy he eventually gets hurt.

He stumbles over to his mom, bleeding from the knee and whimpering with each step. “Hurts,” he tells her: “Momma, it _hurts._ ”

She looks down at him and - and God, he’ll never forget it: how she was framed perfectly in the sunlight, lips turned in a frown, he’ll never forget her face - says, “Bucky, sweetie, big boys don’t cry.”

Honestly, he hadn’t noticed he was crying. He’s too preoccupied with his burning knee, red liquid pooling out the brown-and-black bruises. All he can say is “what?”

“You’re a big boy now. You shouldn’t cry over things like this.” She puts down her book as if inconvenienced by his pain, and reaches into her purse for a band aid. “Here, let me show you how to put one of these on, m’kay?”

Bucky nods, a little disorientated. “Can you kiss it better too?”

“Don’t you think you’re too old for that?” She pats his knee gently. “Go back to playing, dear.”

He does what he’s told, and is fine the rest of the day. Laughing, happy, playing a mock-game of soccer. And then he lays down in his bed and it hits him, sinking into his chest:

_Bucky, sweetie, big boys don’t cry._

-

He grows a bit, becomes accustomed to his parents. He knows they aren’t the best, but, they’re trying, aren’t they?

So he hears shouting halfway down the hall and learns not to flinch, because that’s such a little kid thing to do. He learns that cheer’s a girls sport and "if you’re gonna do it, you better be the best.”

When life is tough and he’s struggling to keep his head above water, he learns how to hold in his feelings until bedtime. He can sob into his pillow, heave until his lungs hurt, and it's all muffled by the heavy door and thick walls separating him from his parents.

Eventually he can’t even do that. It all fades, slowly turns into a distant, numb sensation he can’t cling to.

He’s 14, and sorta-kinda-happy, and very used to his abnormal house.

-

Though he wasn’t quite prepared to die in high school.

He’s not a coward, he’ll admit this is all his fault. Zed is staring him down. A deformed purple freak with sharp claws and teeth.

Bucky presses his back into the wet mud and scrunches up his eyes. “Don’t kill me,” he pleads. He can hear Zed’s ragged breath. “Please - I’m _sorry_ , don’t kill me.”

After a hesitant moment and the realization he isn’t dead, Bucky opens an eye. Zed’s grabbing and clawing at himself, doing everything to stop. He howls in sudden agony and Bucky sits straight up to watch the officers collect him. Addison jogs up with them and falls beside Zed.

“Zed? Zed, are you okay?” She looks at Bucky briefly, then turns back to the monster. _Of course she picks him over her own cousin._

He’s taken away. Bucky tries to collect his thoughts. The world’s blurry and far away and the weight on his chest is heavier than it’s been in years.

He bites his lip so hard it bleeds. _Oh my God, I almost died._

Something burns his cheek, and he wonders if he knocked his head - if it’s blood. But he tastes salt.

He can’t remember Addison coming back, but she’s beside him again. “Bucky? Are you-?”

“I am _fine._ ” Bucky turns away from her and quickly rubs his mud-stained hand over his face. “Go to your stupid boyfriend.”

“...Alright.”

He listens to her walk off, and once the world settles again and he’s alone, he breaks down.

Big boys don’t cry.


End file.
